


a reasonable sacrifice

by mcgarraty



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Argentina National Team, Brazil National Team, Copa América 2015, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World Cup 2014, unabashed melodrama, you were warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarraty/pseuds/mcgarraty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neymar gets a red card during the Colombia game. then he disappears</p>
            </blockquote>





	a reasonable sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel of sorts to my fic [we shouldn't have to try so hard](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4125147/), plus Copa America drama. there's an absurd level of angst here, but i can't seem to avoid it :/ i was hoping to post this sooner so it would be more relevant, but rl got in the way. for anyone who missed the Brazil-Colombia game and Neymar being lowkey assaulted by the Colombia nt for 90 mins, here’s a video of the highlights: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHzzEhrUBFU>  
> (Sidekick_Theory also gives a great description of it in [Comfort is a Three Letter Word](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4225182/))  
> 

Dani calls Leo at midnight, frantic in a way that Leo has never heard before.

“Ney’s gone.”

Leo holds the phone away from his ear for a second, turning to look at the noise behind him, Kün and half his other teammates yelling at the television, certain that he’s misheard.

“I don’t know where he is,” Dani is saying, when Leo puts the phone back. “I can’t find him, no one can, he’s not answering anything, _Leo_ —”

Leo leaves his room and his team and steps out into the hall of the hotel, barefoot and just beginning to taste fear.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Dani asks. His voice sounds sharp from trying to control it. “You saw what they did to him tonight.”

Leo hesitates. He feels trapped, numb from watching men in yellow jerseys stomp Neymar into the ground and hearing the commentators call the tackles _fair_. The thing is that some of them were. And then the whistle had blown and Neymar had done something so stupid—

“I saw,” Leo says at last.

“Then help me,” Dani says, angry but still pleading. As if he thinks there’s some version of reality where Leo is going to say _no_. “He’s alone somewhere, I don’t know what he’s thinking—”

Leo’s heart skips in time with the words, a fluttering panic.

“He wouldn’t even speak to me in the locker room,” Dani stammers. “Dunga was screaming and Ney just walked out. He was so upset, Leo, I’m afraid—” Dani stops short of voicing it, but Leo knows anyway. He knows about self-destruction. Neymar teaches it to him every day.

“He’ll listen to you, though,” Dani says. “If you call he’ll answer, you’re all he talks about, Leo can you—”

“I’ll find him,” Leo says.

He’s in pajamas stranded in the hallway of the hotel, suddenly dreading everything. He needs shoes from his room, but half the team is in there from when they watched the game together, sprawled out on the perfumed hotel furniture, and Leo isn’t sure he can face them right now. They have never been cruel on purpose, but when Neymar kicked the ball after the final whistle and saw the red, Pipita had grinned at Leo over Ángel’s shoulder and said: “I knew he was a baby.”

Leo said: “shut up,” so fast he hadn’t been able to think about it properly, and then the whole team had turned to stare. Leo was raw under their gazes, shaking his head, wanting to take the words back. He realized that he’d given himself away, let slip the thing he’s been trying desperately to hide. That people may treat him like he’s normal, but Leo is wrecked. Neymar wrecked him. Leo is supposed to be an adult with logic and distance, but he’s not, he’s obsessed with Neymar, thinks about him constantly, hooked on the memory of Ney’s body in his arms the one single night Leo got to have him.

It can’t be right.

Pipita was staring at Leo so hard across the room, _what the fuck man_ , but Leo couldn’t even defend himself then, because his phone had gone off and it was Ney and Leo had answered on the first ring, locking himself in the bathroom while the rest of the team smirked and haggled outside.

Neymar hadn’t been speaking on the other end of the line, just breathing fast and harsh like he couldn’t get enough air. There was noise behind him, media and staff, people who wanted a piece of him, chew and then spit, people who didn’t give a fuck.

“Ney,” Leo said at last, half-frightened by the hitched breathing on the other end.

“Did you see?” Ney said roughly. “What am I thinking, of course you saw. You all did. Are you laughing at me?”

He sounds so angry that Leo hardly knows what to do, because it’s vicious, childish anger, exactly like Pipita said. Ney was a kid on the field by the end of the game, reckless and caught in that vicious cycle, under-living expectations. Lashing out at bodies and the ball like he’d forgotten where he was.

Softly, Leo says: “Why did you do it?”

“They were hurting me,” Neymar says, like its being ripped from him. He’s furious but also in pain, young and wronged and burning from it. “I did what I had to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leo says, and now he’s angry too, because Neymar should be old enough to admit mistakes, and Leo shouldn’t be so desperate to forgive them. Leo breathes out slow, tries to remember who he used to be, who he was before Neymar made him weak to everything he did. Remember the rules. “Football doesn’t work like that,” Leo says. “You can’t do what you want when you want to, you can’t—”

“But you weren’t there to stop me,” Neymar says. It’s like an accusation, a test of something, loyalty or maybe even love.

Leo feels wounded, grips the sink with one hand, knuckles going white. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Nothing,” Neymar mutters. The dead scratch of his voice tells Leo he’s failed whatever the test was. “I shouldn’t have called.” The noise behind him is louder, the bloodhounds closing in. And Leo has company of his own, Higuaín and Pocho drunk and banging on the bathroom door, asking if he’s talking to the kid and snickering loud enough that Neymar can probably hear.

“I thought you’d understand,” Ney says, pitiful-angry now, because all he wants is comfort but he’s too proud to say the things that will make Leo give it to him. “But I was being stupid.”

Leo wants to say, _stop it, I’m sorry_ , and tell him the truth, what it was like to watch the game on TV, how Leo felt sick when Neymar’s knuckles crumpled under Sánchez’s studs, how every time Ney got shoved down and kicked onto the turf, Leo forgot what the word _rules_ meant, needed all his self control to stop from getting up and just walking out of the room, shaking with a kind of fury he’d never felt before, because Neymar was being hurt and Leo couldn’t make it stop.

But Neymar hangs up before Leo has a chance to speak at all.

That’s the last Leo knows until Dani calls him.

This time, Leo’s smart enough to take the phone out to the hallway where the rest of the team is too lazy to follow. Going back into the room afterwards feels like stepping into a predator’s den, which is strange, because Leo considers some of these people to be his best friends in the world. But Neymar has a way of smashing up Leo’s everything.

He sweeps into the hotel room playing at nonchalant, phone clutched tight in one hand, heart on a repeat stutter. Dani’s words echo in his head: _Ney’s gone he’s alone somewhere I don’t know what he’s thinking_. And the other part, about how Ney wouldn’t talk to Dani in the lockers, but he had wanted to talk to Leo, he’d tried and Leo hadn’t done it right, too busy battling his own monstrous fear of the things Neymar makes him feel to give Ney what he needed.

 _I knew he was a baby_ , Pipita had said, but so what? Leo thinks, suddenly savage in his own mind, so what if Ney is sometimes, it’s no worse than anything the rest of them have been or done. Leo doesn’t have the words to explain it out loud, how Neymar is good, better than anyone he’s met. Like something pure that will snap under scrutiny or the wrong hands. He’s become the focal point of Leo’s existence.

 _I’m going to find you,_ Leo thinks. _So I can ask you what you’ve done to me_.

***

He calls Neymar from the lobby of the hotel at a quarter-to-one in the morning, waiting for the valet to bring a rental car around. There’s no answer, which doesn’t make Leo surprised, just angry, because he thinks Ney is doing this on purpose, running himself into ruin to make Leo pay. And it’s easier for Leo to be furious than admit how much he's scared.

The car comes and Leo takes the keys and gets a map on his phone. It’s almost five hours to Santiago but at this time of night he knows he’ll be able to speed, make it there in four. If Ney’s on foot Leo thinks he has to still be nearby, can’t have gone far beyond the city limits. If he’s gotten his hands on someone’s car, Leo doesn’t know what he’ll do.

The first time Leo calls Ney from the road, he’s already speeding. Desolate coastline flashes by on one side, black and towering mountains on the other. Ney doesn’t pick up. Leo calls him every five minutes for two hours straight, but there’s never an answer, and Leo drives faster and faster and forgets how to control his fear.

The last time Leo calls, he’s driving through a mountain pass and it’s 3 am and he can hardly think hardly see hardly concentrate anymore. He’s driving so fast that he knows there’s actual danger, realizes that he might end up crashing this car for Neymar, doesn’t have the willpower to slow down. Leo thinks: _if I lose him if I lose him what do I become_. The road is coated in smog and the signs for Santiago loom like specters, swaying before his burning, sleepless eyes. Leo calls and Neymar finally answers the phone. He sounds lost. He says Leo’s name but it’s barely a breath, something spoken into darkness that he thinks will get no reply. There’s noise behind him, huge, crashing waves. The ocean.

“Where the hell are you?” Leo says, suffocating on fury, fear, relief. He tries to sound severe and in control but it comes out shaking.

“I don’t know,” Neymar stammers, and hangs up.

Leo slams his phone down against the dashboard of the car so hard the screen shatters. When he turns off the highway in Santiago, he drives towards the sea.

***

He finds Neymar by the ocean at dawn, a lone figure on a park bench with his shoulders hunched against the wind. Leo’s been driving up the coast for almost two hours, one-way streets and sand-coated roads that run along the beach, counting on the sound of the waves to lead him to Ney. He thinks he’s going to lose his mind, doubling back and driving in loops, terrified of missing him somehow. When he finally sees Neymar, it’s on a broken pier at the edge of a dead-end road so far from civilization that Leo can’t imagine how he made it here at all.

Ney’s hardly wearing any clothes, just sweat-soaked training pants and a long shirt that’s ripped at the collar. He’s sitting on the bench curled in on himself, shivering so hard it’s visible even from a distance, his slender body shuddering somewhere deep inside. His head is down, knees pulled up against his chest, arms wrapped around them like a vice, and when Leo skids the car up, he sees the way Neymar’s fingers are moving, scratching at threads on the long sleeves of his shirt like he wants to tear them apart.

Leo’s out of the car so fast he almost doesn’t stop it properly. Dawn is pink on the ocean, painting Neymar’s skin. It’s freezing outside, wind spiking Ney’s hair, freezing salty crystals of sweat like snowdrops against his forehead. There’s sweat everywhere on him, drying in the morning frost, which means he ran, Leo thinks, ran and ran until he couldn’t run anymore. And then he broke down.

“Ney,” Leo rasps, swaying on his feet from speeding all night, hollow with dread at what Neymar looks like, the boy who always smiles reduced to this shivering thing in front of him.

Neymar’s head lifts slowly and when Leo sees his face something in his chest cracks, an irreversible pain, like there are bones snapping under his skin. Ney’s cheeks are raw and flushed from the wind, lips numbed to blue, blank eyes rimmed in dirt and darkness. He looks so dazed that Leo doesn’t even know if he’s being recognized, if Neymar sees him standing there or just some silhouette, a shadow in a sea of shadows, instead of someone who held him in a half-lit training room at two am and promised to not let go.

“Ney it’s me,” Leo stammers, scared and coming forward. Neymar’s eyes spark with exhausted recognition. He’s never been more childlike, curled up with his knees against his chin, picking at his shirtsleeves. Leo thinks: _I did this. I’m supposed to protect him but I can’t even protect myself._

“Leo,” Ney says, and lurches to his feet. His eyes are burning and glassy like he’s running a fever, which Leo thinks is possible from how long he’s been out in the cold. “Are you real?” Neymar says deliriously, hands outstretched like he’s warding off ghosts. “I don’t think you’re real.”

“I’m real,” Leo says, and reaches for him. They fall together so perfectly it’s like a revelation, surfacing from ages underwater and remembering how to breathe. Neymar’s bony arms lock around Leo’s neck, fingers scrambling at his collar. His lips are frozen blue but his mouth is so hot at Leo’s throat that Leo feels like he’s being branded. Leo presses his forehead into the sweaty crevasse of Neymar’s shoulder and feels him shake and shake and just holds him, desperate with relief at the feel of Neymar’s skin against his, something Leo never realized he could die from losing until Dani called up and almost stopped his heart.

Neymar is weak in his arms, so different from the kid Leo saw on the pitch, the kid on the phone with his earth-shattering anger. It’s like the weight of everything has caught up, settled onto Neymar’s shoulders and it’s too much to bear. It’s drowning him.

“I’m sorry,” Ney stammers. “I made a mistake, I’m so, so sorry.”

“No,” Leo says. He feels dazed, high on touching Neymar’s body, detached from rational thought. There’s nothing in the world but him and this boy, and nothing about this boy can be wrong. “It’s over now,” Leo says, while Neymar trembles and stutters half-formed apologies into his neck. “It’s all done. It’s not your fault.”

Neymar sways against him, hardly able to stand on his own, and Leo’s arms are starting to strain under the weight, shaky from lack of sleep and too much training.

“Here,” Leo murmurs, and guides Neymar down to sit on the bench before they both collapse. Neymar folds in on himself again, hunching, but he stays latched onto Leo’s side, one hand curled in Leo’s jacket, head buried against Leo’s shoulder. It’s so cold that Leo’s fingers are numb just from being outside, icy at the back of Neymar’s neck. He doesn’t understand how Ney can feel so warm against him, burning up but shivering uncontrollably.

“Take this,” Leo says, detaching himself from Neymar long enough to slip his jacket off and drape it around Ney’s shoulders. It’s one from the national team, light blue with the crest and buttons down the front. Neymar doesn’t move on his own, just lets Leo guide him, limp like he needs to be handled, like he can’t be asked to take responsibility for things anymore. Even his own body is too much to control.

Ney blinks when Leo slides the jacket around him, lashes long and fluttering in the frigid air, eyes wide with childlike gratitude.

“You came to save me,” Ney says, as if he’s only understanding now. “I ruined everything, but you still came.”

“Don’t say that,” Leo murmurs. “Nothing’s ruined. It’s just a game. It’s not the end of the world.”

“No, they hate me,” Neymar says simply, clutching at fistfuls of Leo’s jacket on his shoulder blades. “The whole team, the whole country. We had a chance to win this and I took it from them, I’m so _stupid_ —”

“Stop,” Leo says, a little rough, and Ney sways forward at the sound, forehead falling against Leo’s, lips parted. He’s so fragile like this, every inch of his body loose and open, trusting Leo with his life. Leo feels like he’s been given a gift, rare and priceless, too good to be true. It shakes Leo to the core, realizing how much he wants it.

“Nobody hates you,” Leo says. “Nobody could ever hate you, Ney, you’re so—”

He stops himself on the edge of something dangerous that he can’t come back from. Caught in a stupor of exhaustion and buried lust, thinking: _perfect perfect you’re the best thing I’ve ever touched_.

Ney is hardly listening anyway, rubbing his sweaty forehead against Leo’s when he shakes his head.

“You don’t understand,” Neymar says. “He said I had to win it, everyone said I was the one—”

“Your coach is a fool,” Leo says sharply, and feels Neymar flinch. Leo runs his fingers up Ney’s neck in apology, guides his head back so they’re eye to eye. Neymar looks hazy, desperate for permission to fall apart. “This isn’t all on you,” Leo says. “It’s a team, Ney. You can’t be everything for everyone all the time.”

“I don’t want to be,” Neymar stammers, and he reaches up a hand, long fingers scraping at his arm where the captain’s band hooks on. “I’m so tired Leo, I don’t want to do this anymore—”

“You don’t have to,” Leo says, and he feels that strange kind of fury again, a shuddering rage at the people who made Neymar feel this way, the man who gave him the armband and the rest of the world who clawed and scratched and laughed at him while he tried to wear it right. Suddenly the very idea of Neymar’s red card seems absurd. Twenty-three years old and strung up on a tightrope, tasked with saving an entire country’s pride. Kicked to the ground more times than even the announcers could count. Of course Ney had snapped. Of course.

 _I should’ve stopped this,_ Leo thinks, hating himself _. I shouldn’t have let them do this to you_.

“I just get so angry,” Neymar whispers. He’s still drowning in the guilt, leaning into Leo’s shoulder and rubbing at his own arms, fidgeting like he can’t remember how to live in his skin. His eyes are hot on Leo’s face, caught between worship and feverish desire and shame. “I want to be better,” Ney says. “I want to be like you. I tried, Leo, but they were knocking me down and I kept thinking about last year—”

Ney breaks off suddenly, not breathing right. “I can still feel it,” he mumbles, so soft it’s like he’s afraid of Leo actually hearing. “When I move wrong, I can feel where he hit me.”

Leo remembers the World Cup and gets dizzy, fingers pressing instinctively into the back of Neymar’s neck as if he can protect him like that, as if holding on tight enough right now will make Neymar safe forever.

“I was scared yesterday,” Ney says. It’s a confession. His forehead is against Leo’s shoulder, not looking at him, not wanting to. “I was so scared he was going to do it again.”

“I would’ve killed him,” Leo says, and it feels true, cradling Neymar’s fear in the palm of his hand and knowing it’s the one thing on earth he would hurt to destroy.

Leo thinks of Zuñiga last night, fouling Ney over and over like he wanted to see how much more damage he could cause. He thinks about how it must’ve been for Neymar, chased up the pitch by someone who had almost deprived him of the most important thing in his life.

“You were so brave,” Leo says, hand sliding up Ney’s neck and into his hair. “You were really strong, Ney.”

Neymar shudders against him, mumbling: “But I messed it up anyway.”

He’s leaning heavily into Leo, sweat and vulnerability soaking into Leo’s skin like an exquisite disease that Leo is ready to die from. He can make Leo want him so much, blindly, disastrously, willing to throw away everything for a single touch. It’s madness. Leo wonders if Ney has any idea what kind of power he’s got.

“I kept looking for you on the field,” Ney whispers, shifting restlessly against Leo, breath hot at his neck. “I kept looking over but you weren’t there. Everything was bad, but you would’ve made it okay.”

He sounds so young, talking into Leo’s skin like he’s afraid to even look up, and Leo feels broken listening to him, guilt opening in his chest because Neymar believes in him so much, like Leo is the answer to everything, the only way out, a kind of superior being instead of someone who Neymar has demolished, reduced to a tangle of fear and want and deadly compulsion.

 _I’m not who you think I am_ , Leo wants to say. _You act like you need me but I need you worse, I don't know how to stop._

“What am I supposed to do now,” Ney is stammering, forehead pressed into Leo’s shoulder. “I can’t go back to the team, they’re going to blame me—”

“They would never,” Leo says. He thinks of Dani on the phone, panic breaking up his foolproof charm. “They care about you so much, Ney. You know they care.”

“I don’t know anything,” Neymar says. His voice is flat, washed out, but he’s wriggling against Leo’s side to make up for it, hot and clingy, more than just a feverish instinct for comfort. His fingers brush up Leo’s thigh and rub at his waist, searching for skin.

“You smell so good,” Neymar mumbles, nuzzling at Leo’s neck. “I never want to stop touching you.”

Leo is lost in him, scared because Neymar is practically delirious, and because he’s taken over Leo’s mind. They didn’t even talk about the first time, woke up tangled together in the cool dark of the training room and had separate flights to catch. Leo feels ruined by the memories, watching Neymar dress in silence and thinking, _what if I never get to have him again_.

“Do you dream about it?” Neymar breathes, rolling his head up on Leo’s shoulder so their eyes lock for an instant. “Do you wish you had me back?”

Leo thinks: _I wish for you every second, you and nothing else, it's taken over my life._

He can’t say it out loud, not when Ney is like this, shivering and so vulnerable he’s almost cracked. Neymar whines a little like he knows anyway, says “Leo,” like the beginning of a plea. Leo moves before Ney can get the rest of the words out.

“Come on,” he says softly, rising from the bench and lifting Neymar into his shaky arms like a used-up bride. “I’m taking you home.”

Neymar locks his elbow around Leo’s neck, shakes his head frantically where it’s buried against Leo’s chest. “I want to stay with you.”

He makes it sound so needy, squirming against Leo like he wants to climb under his skin. Leo grips him tighter, clutching Neymar’s fragile, burning body in his arms and trying not to fantasize about taking him apart.

“Leo, please,” Ney says, almost whimpering, rubbing his lips against Leo’s throat. “Let me stay with you.”

Leo carries him to the back seat of car without answering because he has to say _no_ , but when he’s touching Ney like this, breathing in his sweat, he’ll never be able to do it.

He’s holding Ney with one arm hooked under his legs, one behind his back, but he has to take that away when he goes to open the car door, and Ney curls up against him like something desperate, face pressed into the crook of Leo’s shoulder.

“You should sleep,” Leo says, pulling open the door to the back seat and stepping up to lay Neymar inside. Neymar keeps squirming, pressing in closer, clinging to Leo so tight and refusing to be put down.

“Ney,” Leo says, trying to make it gentle even though he’s at the end of his patience, shaking and deathly tired, hard in his sweatpants because Neymar won’t stop moving against him, wet lips smeared all over Leo’s neck.

“Ney,” Leo says, hurting. “You have to let go.”

Neymar’s arms slacken around Leo so quick Leo almost drops him, because he’s not used to holding Ney’s full weight without that frantic grip at his shoulders. It’s such a childish thing of Ney to do, vindictive and borderline cruel, like Neymar wants to force Leo to wrong him, fulfill that prophecy he’s taught himself to believe. _Everyone will leave me_.

Leo leans down and lowers Neymar onto the back seat, arms trembling under Ney’s slack and helpless body.

“Sleep,” Leo says.

Neymar looks up at him from where he’s laid out on the seat of the car, legs sprawled wide in the doorway, leaning dizzily back on his elbows. Leo’s blue jacket slips from his shoulders and pools behind him on the fake leather upholstery. Ney’s forehead is wet with sweat, hair sticking to his skin, and his eyes are huge and dark and pleading.

“I can’t sleep,” Ney says. “If I sleep I’ll dream, I’ll remember. I want to forget.”

Leo stares down from the doorway, hands braced on the roof of the car over his head. Neymar’s legs are knocking against the outside of Leo’s knees, making Leo’s heart skip, and he’s breathing shallow, slender chest hitching up and down below the thin fabric of his shirt, hooded eyes on Leo’s face, too dazed to be ashamed anymore, just wanting. Lips red and open, lashes blinking slow.

“Make me forget,” Ney says.

Leo bites down on his tongue so hard he’s afraid of blood. Neymar is moving his body against the car seat in tiny little bursts, squirming like he can’t get comfortable, hips shifting up at empty air while his knees slide against Leo’s. He’s hard already, tenting his sweatpants, sweat coating his neck.

“Leo please,” Neymar says. “Make me forget.”

This was how it went before: Neymar beautiful and begging in front of him, glistening skin with a heart underneath that Leo would rip worlds open to possess. And then the morning, silence and the echo of the things they’d told each other, promises that seemed to fade in the daylight. There was reality outside, and reality wouldn’t like them. Neymar must’ve seen it in Leo’s eyes, the fear, because he rolled out of his arms so fast and mumbled, _it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all_. Grabbed his clothes and walked out first so Leo wouldn’t have to. Leo had stayed still on the floor of the training room, naked and paralyzed by the imprint of Ney’s body on his, thinking, _how do I exist now, how do I go on without him_.

The answer is, _you don’t_.

“Leo,” Ney whispers, and Leo reaches a hand down, lets himself have one moment, one touch, a shaky finger tracing the edge of Neymar’s lips. Ney’s so hot here and everywhere, like there’s a fire lit inside him. _He’s sick_ , Leo tells himself, but he doesn’t want to believe it, not when Ney takes Leo’s finger in his mouth, seals his lips around it like its the only thing he’s ever wanted to taste, sucking so hard and fast Leo thinks it could make him come, just like that, from watching.

“Ney,” Leo stammers, and his voice cracks. He's leaning forward, unable to stop himself, one hand still braced on the car roof outside, the rest of his body swaying in, needing to touch something, wanting Neymar against him, skin to skin, wanting him everywhere. Neymar is this strange mess of lazy and desperate, leaned back on his elbows while he sucks at Leo’s index finger, glittering eyes locked on his face.

 _Just this once_ , Leo thinks, _just this one time_ , and curls the rest of his hand around Neymar’s jaw to guide his movements, feeling the way Neymar’s cheeks hollow and slide while Ney licks at him. Neymar’s body trembles under Leo’s touch, hips rolling up hard at nothing. His hand scrambles out to seal in the fabric of Leo’s shirt and he uses the leverage to pull himself upright so he’s sitting in the gap of Leo’s legs. Suddenly they’re flush together, Ney dangling at the edge of the seat with his forehead pressed flat against Leo’s stomach. Leo’s hand is trapped between them, finger slick with spit when Neymar lets it fall from his lips.

Neymar stays still like that, leaning into Leo like he’s trying to absorb his strength, breathing quick and not looking up, fingers curling and uncurling in the side of Leo’s t-shirt. Leo wants to hold him, run a hand through his hair, but he’s afraid to move.

Slowly, Neymar lifts Leo’s shirt over his stomach and puts his lips against Leo’s bare skin.

“Ney,” Leo gasps, unable to control himself. Neymar’s lips are a breath away from the waist of Leo’s sweatpants, mouthing at his hipbone, getting everything wet. Leo is shuddering, trying so hard not to shift against him, rub himself off on Neymar’s chest, because he knows Ney isn’t teasing him on purpose, mouth working slow, rhythmic circles at Leo’s skin like he’s in a trance. When his forehead streaks over Leo’s stomach it feels like sparks, and Leo finally comes to his senses.

“No, stop, you’re burning up,” Leo stammers, trying to pull away. His body screams at him: _traitor_ you want that boy and he wants you what are you afraid of. He takes a sluggish step back, but Neymar grips his t-shirt so hard it tears from the collar, keeping him close. Leo shakes his head, trying to convince himself. “You’re sick Ney, you shouldn’t be—”

“Who cares,” Neymar says raggedly, fingers sliding all over Leo’s stomach. “Who cares, make me forget it, just fix me Leo, _please_.”

It ends in a gasp, glassy eyes and desperation. Ney always tries so hard with Leo, begging like he thinks he’ll never get anything any other way, and Leo aches with guilt because Neymar doesn’t seem to understand—it’s not that Leo doesn’t want him, it’s that he wants him too much.

He touches Neymar to prove it, splays his hand against Neymar’s shoulder and pushes him gently down to his back on the seat of the car. Neymar looks so grateful, falls so easily, fingers slipping from Leo’s t-shirt, breath hitching in his chest.

Leo follows him down, kneels slowly on the seat between Neymar’s spread legs, and he feels like he’s dreaming because there’s no way Neymar can be real like this, long, slender body spread out and starting to tremble under Leo’s gaze, soft eyes wide with longing.

“Okay,” Leo stammers, trying to talk himself through it, running his hands up Neymar’s sides below his shirt and reveling in how it makes Neymar twist.

The first time they did this was different, so long coming that it felt like a kind of explosion when they finally touched for real, shimmering bright on the edge of obliteration. It was the best moment of Leo’s life. Ney had been commanding, bold from alcohol and reckless abandon, demanding things from Leo like he’d decided he had nothing to lose. He’s changed now, defeated by what other people have done to him. Staring up at Leo like if he looks long and hard enough Leo can make it all go away.

 _Just this one time_ , Leo thinks hazily, and knows it’s a terrible lie.

He meets Neymar’s eyes, runs his hands slowly across Ney’s smooth chest, brushing at his nipples. Neymar whimpers, kneading his lips, rolling his hips frantically up toward Leo’s crotch. His hands scramble and squeeze at the fake leather seat below him, too dazed to even get a grip.

“More,” Neymar begs, writhing in Leo’s lap just from the way Leo’s hands feel on his skin, and Leo’s throat gets tight with realization, a hot sting that feels like tears when it reaches his eyes. _I will never have anything better than this_.

He leans down to kiss Neymar so suddenly it takes Ney’s breath away, has him gasping into Leo’s mouth and sliding his hips up against Leo’s where their bodies are pressing together. Neymar is flat on his back on the seat and Leo is pushing down on him, bracing himself with one hand on the far door of the car over Neymar’s head so his weight isn’t crushing.

Neymar’s legs hook automatically around Leo’s back like he’s afraid of losing him even now, terrified of being left like this, vulnerable and in need. Leo kisses him harder to tell him, _I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t ever_ , hand in Neymar’s hair, pulling him back so his throat arches. Ney is loose and messy underneath him, lips slipping against Leo’s in wet, desperate rhythm. Leo feels the slight dip of acne scars on Ney’s temples when his fingers brush across and thinks: _God, he is a child_ , and: _he’s mine_.

Neymar’s fingers come up to shove at Leo’s shirt where it’s caught between their stomachs, wanting it off, and Leo breaks the kiss long enough to help Neymar’s trembling hands tug it over Leo’s head. The car was freezing a minute ago, swept through with frigid ocean air, but now it feels sweltering, hot enough that when Leo’s shirt comes off he hardly even shivers, just leans down to lick at Neymar’s mouth again. Neymar whines under him, rolling his hips up against Leo’s so quick and fast that Leo has to pull back after a second to stop them both from losing control. He reaches for Neymar’s shirt while he’s there, and their fingers tangle in the fabric as they pull it off together, Neymar’s perfect arms stretching taught against the door of the car.

“Leo,” Ney gasps, “Leo Leo Leo,” arching up again to be kissed, lost in the haze of getting what he asked for, to forget what he did, what was done to him, like if he joins himself with Leo completely maybe his regret will vanish under the weight of Leo’s skin. But that’s so temporary, Leo thinks. He wants to give Neymar something better, something to hold onto in the aftermath, wants to live up to that look in Neymar’s eyes when Ney blinked at him on the park bench and whispered _you came to save me_. For a single moment, Leo needs it to be true.

“Turn over,” Leo says. He sits back on his heels, forcing Neymar to unhook his legs around him, taking all his weight off Neymar’s chest so Ney can move freely on the seat. Neymar looks up at him, lips swollen and bloody red, wondering.

“Do it,” Leo says softly, and Neymar obeys, rolling onto his stomach on the car seat, whimpering when his cock rubs against the upholstery. He turns his head to the side, wet lips dragging spit all over the leather, looking back at Leo for direction. Leo can’t breath for a minute, staring down at Neymar’s back, the curve of his spine, dark skin for ages, the prettiest thing he’s ever been offered. Slowly, he moves up to straddle Neymar’s ass, spreading his knees on either side of Ney’s hipbones.

Leo says: “Last summer, when he took you down… Show me where he hurt you.”

Neymar makes a sound like a memory of pain, shuddering against the seat as if his whole body is living the injury again.

 _Make me forget_ , Neymar had said, and this isn’t that at all, this is the opposite, but he also said _fix me_ , and this is the only way Leo knows how. He has to teach Neymar that this is how you survive things—not just running until dawn and burying your lips on someone else’s skin. You have to face things. You have to fight them. Leo will help him do it. Leo would do it for him all by himself if he could.

“Ney,” he says softly, while Neymar breathes shallow below him, dwelling in the fear. Leo remembers watching that World Cup game, seeing Neymar snap under Zuñiga’s knees, slamming into the turf like he’d been shot down. Leo remembers that Neymar screamed. Leo hardly knew what to think about him back then, this shit-talking kid who had come to Barcelona dripping records and goals, who picked fights with their opponents as easy as breathing, who wouldn’t stop following Leo around. All he knew was that when Neymar collapsed on that pitch, Leo had felt wild, irrational horror, like someone had broken a piece of his own body off.

“Show me where he hurt you,” Leo says again, and this time Neymar swallows, reaches one shaky arm around to his back and spreads his palm over the lower vertebrae.

“Here.” Ney’s voice cracks at the end, still terrified of it, the damage that was almost done. Working himself up to something like tears. “I felt it snap,” he says. “Then I couldn’t feel at all. I thought I was going to die, Leo,” he stammers, starting to panic. “I thought everything was over—”

“I know,” Leo breathes, and puts his tongue on Ney’s back, licking hot and quick at Ney’s skin where the break was. Neymar cries out and arches up into him, shocked by the sensation, grinding his hips against the seat.

He tastes like sweat and heat and feverish youth, salty-sweet and addicting. Leo licks at him like he’s trying to clean a wound, like he’s sucking the pain away, taking it for himself, holding it so Neymar doesn’t have to.

“Leo,” Ney whimpers, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Leo’s hair, push Leo down harder, pressing Leo’s lips and nose and forehead against his back. “Don’t stop please please don’t stop.”

Leo obeys, licks him everywhere, dragging spit over Ney’s skin like it’s armor Ney can keep to protect him. Neymar clings to Leo’s hair and comes apart, gasping against the seat of the car, wet mouth biting at leather.

“You’re so much better now,” Leo says, pulling back just enough for air, tongue trailing against Neymar’s dark skin. “You’re so good Ney, you’re so brave. You’re so perfect.”

“And you want me,” Neymar stammers, like it isn’t obvious, like Leo isn’t rolling his hips helplessly against Ney’s back, desperate for more. “And you’ll keep me.”

“Forever forever forever,” Leo gasps, devastated and praying to God that it can somehow be true. He knows it's impossible for Neymar to believe, because Leo’s a coward who can’t ever give him enough, too afraid of how Ney tears down every wall Leo builds up, every defense of adulthood, every ounce of his self control.

 _Just this one time_ , Leo thinks and then, with burning clarity: _no, always_.

“Remember this,” Leo says shakily, mouthing the words into Neymar’s back. “When you’re scared, when they try to hurt you, remember this instead. If I’m the one touching you then nobody else can.”

“Leo,” Neymar gasps, like it’s the only word left on earth, arching into him and trying to get more. He’s rubbing himself off on the leather seat of the car, hand tangled tight in Leo’s hair while Leo licks him. Leo knows Ney’s close from the noises he’s making, soft and breakable, free hand snaking down to his stomach like he wants to touch himself. Leo pulls off Ney’s back in a rush, trailing spit, and reaches out to stop him, catching Neymar’s wrist and pushing it over his head, trapping it against the far window of the car.

Neymar struggles weakly in his grip, head twisting off the seat to blink back at Leo. He looks wrecked, cheeks flushed red, body trembling.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please Leo more let me—”

“I want to make you come,” Leo says, rocking his hips in aborted little movements against Neymar’s back and feeling out of his mind. “I want to be the one.”

“Fuck me, then,” Neymar begs.

Leo shakes his head. He’s got nothing in the car to open Neymar up, no lube or anything close to it. Neymar reads it in his eyes and twists under him like a protest, trying to prove he can take it.

“It’s okay, I don’t care,” Ney stammers, and he’s so far gone that Leo is almost afraid, stunned by a kind of desire he’s never seen before. “I don’t need anything just you just—”

“No,” says Leo, soft but firm. He reaches down and brushes sweaty hair off Neymar’s forehead. “I’m not going to be someone who hurts you.”

Neymar goes still below him, eyes squeezing closed. Tears cling to the edges of his lashes, threatening to fall. His arm slides from Leo’s grip on the window and curls around his head on the car seat so he can hide his face in his elbow.

“Ney,” Leo murmurs, like a lullaby.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Neymar asks. His lips drag against his own skin so the words slur.

“I’m in love with you,” Leo says, feeling shattered. He’s never said it like that, sober, and without being told, but it’s so true that he’s sure something monumental will happen, the earth will crack under him, the sky will split apart. “I’m in love with you, I don’t know what to do.”

Ney says, “Leo,” like he’s breaking, and rolls over on the seat so they’re face to face, surges up to crash his mouth into Leo’s. It’s messy and frantic, Ney’s body weak with the effort of staying upright, until Leo catches him at the back of the neck and holds him steady, parts Ney’s feverish lips with his tongue, licks into him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to taste. Ney arches to meet his mouth, stomach rippling hot and tight between Leo’s knees, and Leo rolls his hips, grinding against Neymar’s slick skin and kissing Ney like they’re dying, like this is the end of everything and they’re going to crash and burn together, like they’re spiraling into eternity.

Ney is whimpering high in his throat, twisting under Leo, shoulders knocking back against the door of the car every time Leo’s rocks down. His fingers tangle in Leo’s hair, and he tugs a little, trying to climb Leo’s body and get into his lap. Leo breaks the kiss, breathing hard, and leans back enough to let Neymar slide out from under his legs, wriggle up to sitting against the door of the car. When Neymar moves, his cock streaks between Leo’s thighs through two layers of sweatpants, and it feels so terrifyingly good that Leo almost comes. He curls in on himself, vision going white for a second, but then Ney whimpers, “Leo Leo touch me,” and Leo knows he has to hold out.

Ney is kneeling on the seat in front of Leo’s lap with his back against the car door, shaky and needing guidance, like he’s exhausted just from sitting up. His lips are smeared red, huge from kissing, and there’s spit on his chin, and Leo is in love, in love like he didn’t realize was possible, wanting to drown. “You’re so beautiful,” Leo says deliriously, “I’m never going to deserve you,” and spreads his legs wide, pulls Ney between them and drags his sweatpants down. They’re damp with sweat and precome, sticking to everything, making Ney whine when they brush over his cock. He sways against Leo when he’s naked, arms tangling around Leo’s neck, stammering: “touch me Leo, this time please don’t regret it—”

“Ney,” Leo whispers, close to tears, and grips Neymar’s waist, tugs Ney up into his lap and settles him so he’s sitting on Leo’s cock over Leo’s sweatpants. Ney makes a desperate noise and rolls his hips, riding Leo through the cloth. Leo bites down on Ney’s shoulder to stop from moaning, and they’re both trembling so hard now, breathing each other like oxygen, the kind of addiction that will destroy them both if it has to end.

“You make me insane,” Leo says, guiding Ney’s hips up and down in his lap and trying not to come first. “I want to own you I want to take you away I want to be someone else just so I can have you easier.”

“You can have me now,” Neymar gasps, arms locked around Leo’s neck, back rubbing against the window of the car and smearing fog. His cock is leaking against Leo’s stomach, so close to the edge. “You can have me all the time, Leo—”

 _I’m going to ruin my life for you_ , Leo thinks, clutching Neymar in his lap and fucking up into the hot spread of his thighs, their bodies moving together like something made in paradise. _I’m going to ruin it all and I don’t even care. I want to_.

Ney comes when Leo kisses his cheek, whimpering into Leo’s shoulder and coating Leo’s stomach with warm, sticky stripes of white. Leo comes when he hears what Ney sounds like, hips stuttering up and soaking his sweatpants like he’s a teenager again.

When it’s over, Leo slumps forward against the window, holding both of them up with an elbow on the glass. Neymar is curled into his chest, shaking softly, and they’re pressed so close together that for a brilliant second Leo is convinced nothing in the universe will be able to tear them apart.

“I don’t want to exist without you,” Leo says, cradling Neymar in his arms while they come down from the high. He waits for the fear to hit but he feels perfectly lucid instead. This is the only thing he knows for certain. “I tried, it was like living in hell.”

“Are you lying to me?” Neymar whispers.

Leo thinks of what’s outside the rental car, a world that is going to hurt them, and says: “I wish I knew how.”

***

Leo drives into Santiago as the sun gets bright. Ney is asleep in the back seat, curled up with Leo’s jacket pressed against his mouth like a kid with a pacifier. Leo calls Dani on his shattered phone, whispering when he asks for the name of the team hotel. When he gets there he carries Neymar inside, so gentle that Ney barely wakes, just shifts in Leo’s arms, mumbling his name.

Dani comes down to the lobby just in time to shoo the hotel staff off, because people are starting to take their cell phones out, and Neymar will be dead if this ends up in the papers tomorrow. Dani tries to take Ney from Leo’s arms but Leo won’t let him go. Dani shows him the way to Ney’s room, holds the door open while Leo goes to lay Neymar down inside. He's feverish but not burning anymore, tangling in the sheets of the queen-sized bed, still clinging to Leo’s jacket.

Leo is desperately glad that Neymar doesn’t wake up to see him leave.

He makes it back to Viña del Mar just in time for training. He’s been awake for two days, bloodshot eyes, filthy clothes, body coated in Neymar’s sweat. Kün is waiting for Leo outside the hotel, staring at him like he’s lost his mind, but he doesn’t ask questions, just wraps an arm around Leo’s shoulders and helps him up the steps to the team bus. Leo sleep-walks through training, hallucinating Neymar curled in that bed, dark skin against the white sheets with Leo’s jacket in his mouth. When the training session ends, Leo collapses in the locker room. There’s a message waiting on his phone. It’s Dani’s number. It says:

 _I think you saved his life_.

***

Argentina plays Colombia on a Friday. It’s one of the hardest games of Leo’s career. He gets fouled so many times he starts to lose the feeling in his legs. The ref makes awful calls or none at all, turns a blind eye when four yellow jerseys trample Leo into the ground at the edge of the 18-yard line. It makes Leo angrier than it should, because he’s thinking of Neymar the whole time, how this is what they did to him. How they almost did worse.

When the last penalty finds the back of the net and knocks Colombia out of the Copa for good, Leo yells until his throat burns.

He calls Neymar from the locker room, on the verge of losing his voice.

“Holy shit,” Ney says breathlessly, when he answers. Leo presses his head against the lockers and grins at the childish way Ney cracks up the words, like he’s so happy he doesn’t even know how to hide it. “Holy _shit_.”

Leo says: “That was for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> for the record I love both the Argentina and Brazil nts and any casual villainy with which they’re portrayed here isn’t meant seriously. thanks to my wonderful nightrose for beta'ing. title from numb by marina & the diamonds.


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